I loaded the Mysticism panel.

On October 28, the final seal design of the editing team was signed and stamped by Hollis and placed in a kraft paper envelope.

Hollis neatly stacked the envelopes and placed them in the center of the table.

"it's over."

The sound of chair legs dragging on the floor filled the classroom, and several students stood up almost simultaneously.

Montagu put the pencil back in the pencil holder, while Fisher was still lying on the table, muttering and counting under his breath, when someone patted him on the shoulder and brought him back to his senses.

Catherine closed her little notebook and straightened the tassels at the end of her scarf as she stood up.

Richard's hand rested on the final proofreading.

【博闻】is a library.

The bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling, each book neatly stacked, so you could easily reach out and grab whichever one you wanted.

But the books in the library don't speak to each other.

They stand quietly in their respective places, waiting for someone to come and take them, read them, and compare them.

He was already working very fast, but in the end, he was flipping through one book at a time, connecting each line one by one.

Right now, he sensed that something in the library had changed.

The bookshelf remained unmoved, and neither did the books.

But at some point, lines began to grow between the books.

The progress bar on the panel reached its maximum at that moment.

[Knowledge level 3, progress 100%]

[Knowledge level 3 → 4.]

At the moment of advancement, the entire library "lit up".

The previously dark bookshelves were now fully illuminated, and words appeared on the spines of all the books, allowing him to see the location of each one at a glance.

It's an expansion, from not being able to hold it all to being able to hold it all, from not being able to remember everything to remembering everything.

Richard closed his eyes, then opened them again.

He looked again at the sealing diagram in his hand.

The entire seal changed before his eyes.

They are there on their own; he only needs to look to see them.

In the past, when he deciphered an inscription, he needed to first recall which book and page the symbol had appeared in, and then pull up that page for comparison.

Now, when he looks at this symbol, the relevant page numbers, paragraphs, and footnotes will automatically appear.

Each piece of knowledge has sprouted tendrils, actively connecting with related knowledge.

[博闻] gave him a library filled with books.

The level 4 [Knowledge] turned that library into a spider web.

Every node on the spider web is vibrating slightly; a change in one part affects the whole.

He randomly flipped to a page in his mind, and a dozen or so pages related to that page would light up at the same time.

Richard leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a while.

That feeling was very strange.

"Williams".

Hollis's voice pulled him out of that net.

Richard raised his head.

The white-haired associate professor stood in front of the table, scrutinizing him with a critical gaze.

"You've been staring at that picture for almost five minutes."

Hollis's voice was neither loud nor soft: "I already said we're done."

"Excuse me, sir." Richard closed the manuscript and put it in his bag.

From September to the end of October, for nearly two months, he spent his days in this windowless room copying drawings, checking lines, and filing documents with his head down.

So boring it could turn you into a salted fish.

But as he walked out the door, he looked back at it again and it felt unreal.

When I got to the lobby on the first floor, the sky outside was already starting to darken towards the stone wall of the teaching building across the street.

He wrapped his coat tighter around himself and walked toward the east side of the Petrie Building.

The lights were on in room 314.

I knocked and went in. My aunt was sitting alone behind her desk.

The documents in front of me were stacked three layers high, and the grapefruit tea on the corner of the table had gone cold.

"Sit down." Isabella didn't look up, but drew a line on the margin of a paper with a red pen.

Richard sat down opposite him.

"The editing team has finished work for today."

"Yes, Hollis called this afternoon."

Isabella glanced at her nephew.

"Your complexion is alright."

She closed the paper, which was covered in red annotations, and stuffed it into the drawer.

"Perfect timing, I need to go on a business trip in a few days."

"Where to?"

"The patrols at the several sealed-off areas along the northern route are routine procedures."

She picked up the grapefruit tea and took a sip.

"Sophia, come with me, Clara..."

"You know Clara's field assignment, the Orkney Islands. I'll drop her off along the way."

Richard nodded.

"I've done everything I could for Clara." She tapped the table with her fingernail.

"The protective scheme was personally reviewed by Professor Mortimer, and the underwater energy storage device was made by her cousin; it's of military standard."

"The rest is up to her."

"Your grandfather has also returned from France." Isabella said, her lips twitching downwards.

"The housekeeper called yesterday to say that he is already at the mansion and is in good health, with no major problems."

She added, "Why don't you go see him when you have some free time?"

"it is good."

Isabella stood up and pulled a brown paper envelope from the bottom shelf.

"There's one more thing."

She placed the envelope on the table and pushed it toward Richard.

"The school will have a three-day holiday at the end of the month for the harvest."

Richard took the envelope; inside were two train tickets, a round trip from the capital to Briston.

"This is……"

"Prepared by Father." Isabella picked up the teacup and put it down again, seemingly wanting to drink but finding it too hot.

He said the situation on the front lines has stabilized across the sea, and there are no signs of the enemy invading the mainland. Military control in ordinary cities has been relaxed somewhat.

Big cities like the capital and Manchester need to guard against spies and sabotage, but places like Bristol are less restricted.

"By the way, your mother has been calling my office every few days lately."

"She made a phone call?"

"Hmm." Isabella's expression was somewhat subtle.

"Every time my sister calls, she first asks how my thesis is going, then asks if there are any department activities, and then we chat for a bit about whether the weather in Beijing is warmer than in Bristol..."

After going around in circles, he finally asked in a very low voice, "Is Richard busy lately?"

Richard's hand stopped on the envelope.

"When I said I was busy, she said, 'Then don't bother him.'"

"Before hanging up each time, she would tell me, 'If he's not busy, just have him call home. If he's not busy,'"

She took her hand off the table and looked at her nephew.

"You've been away from home since mid-August, which is more than two months now."

Richard stood beside the chair, looking down at the brown paper envelope that had once contained the train ticket.

There was nothing written on the envelope, just a blank kraft paper envelope.

But when he held it in his hand, he felt it was very heavy.

In the two months since he left home, Richard has barely made any phone calls home.

His mother always spoke very briefly on the phone, asking all the necessary questions before urging him to hang up: "It's expensive, so save your money."

My sister wanted to say more, but my mother hung up the phone.

She only had time to call out, "Brother, remember to eat."

Richard carefully put the train ticket into the inside pocket of his coat.

"I'm going back."

Isabella hummed in agreement.

"Go back and stay for a few days."

The following afternoon, Richard returned to 13 Chelsea Road in the Ashford family's carriage.

The mansion gates were open, and the doorman had a new, younger face.

One of the two last time was transferred away, and the new one looks no more than eighteen years old; the cuffs of his uniform haven't been shortened yet.

The butler was waiting under the porch and gestured for them to enter.

"The master is in the study."

He pushed open the study door.

Gerald sat in the old chair by the fireplace, holding a teacup in his hand.

Richard sensed something was wrong the moment he walked in.

My maternal grandfather's etheric field weakened.

"sit."

Gerrard's voice was no different from before.

Richard sat down in the guest chair opposite the desk.

"Grandpa... how are you feeling?"

He decided to cut to the chase.

Gerald placed his hand on the armrest of the chair: "I'm fine."

He didn't say what he did in Frankfurt.

"How is everyone at home?" Richard changed the subject.

"Vincent just came back last month."

Gerald's gaze drifted towards the fireplace.

"I was hit and my shoulder blade was split open, but it has healed and I'm recovering."

He took a sip of tea.

"The others also had injuries and bumps, but so far..."

Gerald ran his fingers around the rim of the teacup.

"No young person of this generation in the Ashford family has died yet."

Richard finally relaxed, the tension that had been hanging over him.

A hunter family, the war lasted for nearly three months.

Although there were wounded but no dead, this result is considered excellent under the current circumstances.

Compared to the endless lists of the dead published in the capital's newspapers, the Ashford family's luck was ridiculously good.

Of course, considering his grandfather's trip, Richard guessed that it probably had little to do with luck.

Gerald leaned back in his chair.

"I've given you the ticket, hurry back and celebrate the holiday."

Your mother is very concerned about you, but she never urges you verbally.

We, as elders, could see how anxious they were.

"Go back and spend some quality time with your parents and sister."

Gerald stood up from his chair.

He stood up a fraction of a second slower than before, and his right knee trembled slightly when he exerted force.

"Also, your family can come to Beijing for Christmas."

Richard was slightly taken aback.

"The mansion is just sitting empty anyway," Gerald said calmly.

"Your mother's breathing problems are better addressed here in the capital than in Briston. Staying a few more days will be good for her."

"While you're at it, register Evelyn for that cooking school too, so you don't have to make another trip in the spring."

As always, my maternal grandfather had everything arranged.

Richard did not agree immediately.

"I'll go back and discuss it with my parents."

………………

Briston, the seventh house east of the slag heap lane.

Evelyn wiped the living room window facing the alley a second time.

She wiped it once yesterday, and wiped it again today, simply because she had nothing else to do.

From the window, you can see smoke coming from Mrs. Weir's chimney, and the neighbor's dog is dozing on the steps.

Evelyn draped the rag over the windowsill and sat down in the old armchair by the window.

The chair was where my mother often sat, and the seat cushion had been pressed into a dent shaped like her buttocks.

She stood up and stepped into the indentation, resting her chin on her knee.

On the coffee table sat the notebook with a cake drawn on its cover.

But she wasn't really in the mood to make desserts today.

The living room was quiet, with the clock ticking away.

My mother was busy in the kitchen, and occasionally the sound of dishes clattering could be heard.

My father hasn't finished get off work yet; he won't be back until seven or eight in the evening.

She was used to this quiet.

After my brother passed away in mid-August, the family suddenly went from four people to three.

An empty seat appeared on the dining table, the set of dishes was reduced from four to three, and the amount of food my mother cooked was also reduced.

At first, she didn't feel anything.

Soon, she began to feel that the dinner table was a bit deserted.

My father continued to eat and read the newspaper, but his words dwindled from ten sentences to five, then to two, until they became just the sounds of chewing and turning the pages of the newspaper.

My mother would say a few more words, but it would always come down to "the soup had pepper in it today" and "your dad's pants need mending."

When her brother was alive, at least she had someone to bicker with at the dinner table.

He can take whatever she says, and after taking it, he'll turn around and tease her a couple of times.

She reciprocated, he accepted, and before long, the meal was finished amidst the bickering.

Now that noisy person has gone to the capital, dinner in Kuangzha Lane has become as tasteless as chewing wax.